


That Which You Possess

by BrighteyedJill



Series: Even Then (You'll Still Be Mine) [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Belts, Blindness, Fuck Or Die, Humiliation, Impact Play, M/M, Mind Control, Oral Sex, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery, Sort Of, Undercover, Voyeurism, depicted non-con is more coercive than violent, references to violent rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22944565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: Geralt had been gone for three years, and Jaskier was almost ready to believe he wasn’t coming back. But when he receives word about where Geralt has been all this time, he’ll need Yennefer’s help to have any hope of getting Geralt back.Or: the one where Geralt's being kept as a sex slave and Jaskier is the only one who can rescue him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Even Then (You'll Still Be Mine) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648981
Comments: 55
Kudos: 621





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I looked up the rules on colloquial application of royal titles for this, I hope you’re happy! Also, I waited three whole fics in my new fandom before writing slave fic, which may be a new record. Thanks to jaunechat for beta-ing.

Lord Iwen’s steward led the way down the winding stone staircase, lit with wall sconces. It was the most well-appointed dungeon Jaskier had ever visited, though he supposed the opulence was in deference to the wealthy guests rather than those held prisoner here. 

“Is there any other merchandise you’d like to see while you’re here?” The steward gave Jaskier a polite smile. “It’s a pity to limit yourself to only one option. We do have some tempting choices.”

“No, just the witcher,” said Jaskier-- or Prince Kacper, as he was calling himself today. He’d been told this establishment boasted a veritable cornucopia of rarities for the sampling: everything from a golem to a bruxa to a siren to a full elf prince. Tastefully suggestive sketches of the options were displayed in the comfortable room upstairs that must have once been the manor’s chapel. But Jaskier thought it best to avoid knowing more than necessary about the condition of any of the other prisoners here. “The rest, maybe another time.”

“As you wish,” said the steward. Once they reached the cavernous antechamber at the bottom of the stairs, he gestured to one of the guards who was seated at a table with his fellows playing gwent. The man hastily stood and plucked a torch from a fixture and set off down the arched corridor where the steward gestured. Jaskier tried not to look at the cells they passed. Bright eyes watched him from the shadows, and he thought he might even have heard whispers. 

“You have good taste, at least, if this is the only one you want,” the steward said, turning to give Jaskier an approving smile. “He’s been one of Lord Iwen’s best investments in recent years.”

It wouldn’t be him, Jaskier told himself. There was every chance the intelligence Yennefer had received was wrong. In the three years since Geralt had gone missing, Jaskier had had his hopes raised and dashed a dozen times, and he should have learned by now not to get too invested. It wouldn’t be him.  
\--

_At first, Yennefer had dismissed Jaskier’s concerns. “Back before the first snow, he said.” Jaskier threw a hand towards the frost creeping over the window by way of demonstration. “That was long ago!”_

_“He’s been late before,” Yennefer said calmly, and continued mixing… whatever it was that was not food upon the table in her workshop._

_“It’s midwinter!” Jaskier pointed out, and that did at least get her to frown._

_So Jaskier braved the snows to ride to Drakenberg. Just to check, he told himself. If Geralt berated him for being an overly nervous mother hen, well, he was willing to take that risk. He had just walked his old roan gelding into the stable of the only inn in Drakenberg when he saw a familiar face._

_“Roach!” He rushed forward and petted his hands down the mare’s neck to make sure she was real. At his sudden rush, she pulled back her head, but then she nosed at Jaskier’s chest, looking for a treat. “I’m glad to see you. You have no idea.” He raided his saddlebags for an apple, and didn’t care that Roach nearly took off his fingertips in the process of grabbing it._

_Jaskier hurried inside with a spring in his step, and went right to the innkeeper to enquire._

_“The White Wolf?” the man said with a frown. “Haven’t seen him for months.”_

_“But… his horse,” Jaskier said, crestfallen._

_“Left it here.” The innkeeper looked him over, nodding at his lute case. “You’re that songster what travels with him, ain’t you? I’ve heard all your ballads, though sung but poorly here.”_

_“Jaskier the bard, at your service.” He sketched a bow. “You mean to say Geralt of Rivia isn’t here?”_

_“He finished off a pack of Drowners for us, but disappeared before collecting his pay. Queerest thing ever I heard of, a witcher not taking what he’s earned. But he left his weapons behind, too, and that horse. Hold on half a moment.“ The innkeeper bustled into an inner room and returned bearing Geralt’s pack, which held his steel and silver swords, neatly strapped into their scabbards._

_“I didn’t want to give them away, see, because I didn’t want a witcher coming back here demanding his horse and his weapons and taking it out on me when he can’t find them. Seeing as you’re his sworn companion, I think it’s all right to let you have them.”_

_“I…” Jaskier stared at the swords and dug his fingernails into his palms. Those swords shouldn’t be here, or Geralt should. One or the other. There was probably something else he should say, if only he could think. What would Yennefer ask him when he returned? “Were there other guests here, anyone passing through at the time?” he tried, and felt distantly pleased that his voice didn’t shake._

_“Well, and that was months ago now,” the innkeeper said, giving him a concerned look. “I’m sure I don’t remember. We’re at a crossroads, so we get all sorts, even in the winter. Sorcerers and dwarves and elves and what have you. I couldn’t say I remember anything in particular about when he was here.”_

_“I see.” Jaskier stared at the surface of the bar. His mouth had gone dry, and he could not imagine what else he should want to know. The salient point--the only point-- was that Geralt was not here._

_“I will say, master bard,” the innkeeper began after a few moments of Jaskier’s silence, “I’ve fed the horse all this time, haven’t I? I had offers for those swords, and one of them pure silver! I didn’t sell, of course, but I could have earned a pretty penny for them before now.”_

_“Then of course you should keep what you owed him for the contract.” Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s pack from the bar and did not draw a sword with which to stab the innkeeper. “Thank you for your diligence, kind sir.”_  
\--

The steward stopped before the cell at the end of the row, and the guard drew closer, holding up the torch. Jaskier stepped up beside them, peering through the dim light at the figure curled on its side in the straw, back to the cold stones. And he knew he’d found what he came for.

Jaskier would know Geralt anywhere, but even so, it had taken him a moment to be sure. He had never seen the witcher like this before: no swords, of course, but no medallion either. His hair had been cropped close to the scalp, and his ribs were outlined clearly through his skin, as if the bones were too big for his body. There were more scars than Jaskier remembered. Many more. He was stripped to the waist, and wore a loose pair of breeches, old and stained.Though he must have heard them, could probably have heard them the moment they set foot on the stairs, he neither moved nor reacted. 

The guard slapped the flat of his blade against the bars with a clanging that made Jaskier flinch, never mind Geralt’s more sensitive hearing, and shouted, “Hey, witcher!” 

Geralt looked up. Jaskier could see that his eyes were no longer a warm amber color, but pure milky white, sightless and blank.  
\--

_“Don't blubber when you see him,” Yennefer said. “They will have hurt him, likely very badly, otherwise they would not have been able to keep him. The people who frequent this place, torture and mutilation are nothing to them. It's possible there may not be enough of him left to bring back. But whatever the case, you can't let what you think show. If you were who we’re pretending you are, the worse of a state he's in, the more pleased you’d be.”_

_“I’m supposed to be happy that he’s hurt,” Jaskier said into his wine glass, as he let his head hang low in front of him. “Wonderful.”_

_“Yes.” Yennefer snatched the glass of wine out of his hand and slammed it down on the table, sloshing some over the rim with the force of her action. “This is the game, Jaskier. This is how we’re going to get him back.”_

_“I know.” Jaskier folded his hands together and made an effort to sit up. “I won’t blubber.”_

_Yennefer eyed him narrowly, as if deciding whether to argue, then offered, “I suppose you could insist that he not be damaged further before your purchase. That way you shouldn't need to sit through any torture that might do him permanent harm.”_

_“Thanks,” Jaskier said weakly. “Good idea.”_  
\--

“Are you sure this is him?” Jaskier asked. “He doesn't look like much to me.”

“Should have seen him when he come in,” the guard said. “Right terror he was. But Lord Iwen fixed him up good.”

The steward cut in smoothly, “Lord Iwen knows how to handle all kinds of animals, and a witcher is just a queer kind of animal at the end of the day, isn't it?”

“That is one way of looking at it,” Jaskier said. “But considering the condition he’s in, I’m not sure I’d be getting my money’s worth.”

“He’s not what you’d call tame,” the steward protested. “Of course we have ways of making him more… docile for use by our visitors, but he is still a violent, dangerous mutant. Many of our guests appreciate having a little fight in their companions. In fact, he’s often more of a challenge than anticipated.” When Jaskier didn’t answer, the steward gave him an amused smile. “But perhaps you are concerned you won’t be able to handle him.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Jaskier said. He wouldn’t learn anything else just standing here staring, either. “I've seen what I need to. Take me to speak with Lord Iwen.”  
\--

_The night Jaskier had returned from Drakenberg, he sat with Yen in front of the fire and drank until he couldn’t remember a single chord. “He’s not dead,” he said eventually, as his fingers plucked a discordant tune on his lute._

_“You’re wrong.” Yennefer scowled into her wine glass. “You’ve always been a naive idiot.”_

_“Probably.” Jaskier stared at her, at her beautiful violet eyes, and thought of the look on Geralt’s face whenever he saw her. “He loves you so much.”_

_“Loved,” she snapped back. She took another small sip of wine, then said, “He loved you, too. At least as much.”_

_“Nu-uh. You’re wrong, I can prove it.” Jaskier shook his head, and the room swayed precariously around him. “He’s not dead. He can come back and arbtarate--arterbate--arba-”_

_“Arbitrate.” Yennefer squeezed her eyes shut tight for a moment, then shook her head and looked, clear-eyed, at Jaskier. “Yes, of course he can. Here, have some more wine.”_  
\--

“Buy him?” Lord Iwen was a powerfully built man who’d gone a bit soft in the middle. Dressed in finely embroidered silks and a luxurious fur-lined cloak, he sat in an oversized armchair behind his desk. He raised an eyebrow at Jaskier--or, Prince Kacper--and leaned back in his chair. “My dear prince, if I let every interested party buy one of my stable, then what would happen to my business?” He turned to the steward. “Baran, do you remember when that lordling from somewhere in the mountains wanted to buy my werewolf?”

“I remember, sir,” the steward, who was standing beside Jaskier, said darkly. 

“Terrible mess. Amateurs think they know how to handle a creature on their own that we’ve been properly restraining for years, and who pays the price? Me. Lost a great deal of money in the business. No offence to you, prince. I’m sure you’re very capable,” Iwen said politely, but he gave Jaskier a glance from head to toe that said he believed no such thing. “What do you want him for that you can’t use him here?”

Jaskier was sprawled in a chair of his own on the other side of the desk, loosely holding the goblet of wine he’d been given, and trying to pretend that he was completely comfortable and not that he would rather be anywhere else. “That’s my business.”

Iwen narrowed his eyes. “If I let you take him are you just going to kill him? That seems a waste.”

“Just kill him? No, not _just_ kill him.” Jaskier did not elaborate.  
\--

_“Don’t ramble,” Yennefer said. “Say the bare minimum, and let them assume what they will. Bare minimum.”_

_“I understand,” Jaskier said. He wasn’t taking notes, but then again, he wouldn’t have been able to consult them if he had. Yennefer kept looking at him as if she doubted his memory. “I do.”_

_“Whatever they assume will likely be worse than what you would have made up.”_

_“I get it.”_

_“When you get nervous, you talk more instead of less.”_

_“That’s not true. I can be very succinct. Other bards have sung of how succinct my verses are, in fact, thank you very much. I’m not one of those that needs verse after verse after verse to get his point across. Economy of phrase is an important skill for a poet, I’ll have you know. Not a word wasted, not a syllable out of place. I pride myself on my short-windedness. So there’s no cause to worry about that.” Jaskier had realized what he was doing halfway through, but he thought Yen could probably use the laugh. And indeed, a small smile made it onto her face before it died away again._

_“Jaskier,” she chided, shaking her head._

_“I’ll remember.”_  
\--

“I can’t see selling him to you, or to anyone.” Iwen gestured for a servant with a decanter of wine to come forward. “It’s nothing personal. He’s not for sale.”

“That’s disappointing news.” Jaskier held out his goblet for the servant to refill, though it was still more than half full. The wine was excellent, but he couldn’t afford the distraction of strong drink. “I’d been told you do part with some of your specimens on occasion, for the right price.”

“On occasion. But I tell you, the witcher has been good for business. He’s been a great favorite with those that patronize this place. A special feature.”

“A real feather in your cap.” Jaskier wet his lips with the wine, and affected a bored expression. “So you’ve said.”

“We’ve done so much to train him up over the years.” Iwen was warming to his subject, pride swelling his breast as he related his conquest. “We needed to work out new methods for him. He was stronger than most creatures we'd handled before, so it was difficult to make him mind. Even after we took his eyesight, he killed someone more often than not when we tried to use him. But do you know what finally worked?”

“No, what?” Jaskier said, forcing his voice to polite interest.

“We would bring another prisoner to him. We thought at first it might take the edge off him to give him someone else to vent his rage on. Of course we only gave him the ones who were worn out or troublesome and would have been disposed of anyway. A nymph, I believe the first one was?” Iwen said, glancing at his steward.

“A dryad, sir,” Baran supplied. “Or was it a druid?”

“Ah, all the same,” Iwen said with a wave of his hand. “He didn’t vent his rage on them. Left them alone, shared his rations, even. But what we found out was that he did not like for these companions to be taken away and killed. So we told him that if he misbehaved, his current companion would pay the price. If he fought, we killed them. It only took a few iterations for him to decide to cooperate. And at only the cost of a few slaves we’d have disposed of anyway!” He chuckled into his wine. “A convenient system. He has needed a reminder now and then over the years, but mostly he minds very well. Even after we stopped giving him companions, he knew that it was better to obey.”

“That’s a novel approach.” Jaskier hoped the smile on his face didn’t look as grotesque as it felt.

“I’ll admit he has become less consistent, less reliable in recent months. Most of the more intelligent creatures do start to lose their minds after a few years. And he was smart, when he arrived.” Iwen turned to his steward. “How many times did he almost escape, Baran? A dozen or more?”

“At least, sir,” Baran said with a smile of his own, and Jaskier caught a glint of gleeful cruelty in the man’s eye that echoed his master.

“Dumber beasts we can keep for longer. But the smart ones, the canny ones, there comes a point where they cannot be controlled. Either because they no longer fear death, or because their understanding has been twisted so far that they respond unpredictably. I think that time for this witcher is not far off.” Iwen sighed, leaned back in his chair, and sipped at his wine. “So perhaps it would not be too much of a loss to sell him to you. But I would hate to lose him. I have so enjoyed having him.”

“He's quite a prize,” Jaskier said. “Baran said he’s given some of your guests a great deal of trouble.” Fuck, why had he said that; he didn’t want to know. But this prince he was pretending to be would. And Iwen would clearly take any excuse to boast about his exploits.  
\--

_”Sadists like to hear about their victims’ pain,” Yennefer said. “It may help us to know what was done to him, so if discussion turns to that, pay attention. Especially if they mention mages or magic. Unless you think you can't handle hearing about it.”_

_“I can handle hearing about it if I need to,” Jaskier said. Over the weeks of their preparation, he’d resigned himself to a great many things; the high likelihood of a future full of nightmares was the least of them._

_Yennefer shrugged. “You may feel differently when you're there. If you think you can't restrain yourself from reacting if they tell you something truly vile, then don't ask, or change the subject.”_

_“How?” Jaskier gave a bitter chuckle. “Ask about the weather?”_

_“Mm.” Yennefer tapped her thumb against her chin as she considered. “The prince would be impatient to play with his new toy. That would be a convenient excuse to cut short such a discussion.”_  
\--

“He certainly caused some trouble in his early days here. But it’s part of my work here to make monsters safe for humans to play with,” Lord Iwen said with a hint of pride. “You would be surprised by how many there are that fancy themselves stronger and faster than a legendary witcher. Of course, they would never be brave enough to take one on in a fair fight. But we do not deal in fair fights here. I enjoy giving ordinary men a chance to master something as powerful as a witcher. They get bolder when they realize he can’t fight back. It's a very human impulse. The more power you give a man over another's life, the more he feels entitled to that power.”

“It sounds as if he’s been thoroughly domesticated,” Jaskier said, heaving a theatrical sigh. “Pity.”

“Not at all, especially not recently. There is plenty of fight left in him. It’s in a witcher’s nature. They’re born to fight, you know.” Iwen smiled, apparently pleased by his guest’s concern. “He's not completely used up yet, I promise you. There is still plenty of potential pain one could inflict before the end.”

“I've thought about it,” Jaskier said. “I've had lots of time to think about it.” That was true enough. Geralt in pain had been a regular feature of his nightmares since they had found out where he was.

“You seem like a man after my own heart, prince,” Lord Iwen said. He leaned forward on his desk, leveling an assessing look at Jaskier. “However, what I don't want is for one of my little pets to escape and bring trouble down on me and mine. And I do not want a repeat of the werewolf incident. Before I sell him to you, I need to know that you can handle him.”  
\--

_”There may be a test of some kind,” Yennefer said. “If they suspect you, or perhaps even if they don't, Lord Iwen may demand some proof, or require you to participate in some kind of task. It may be that he wants one more chance to see Geralt hurt, or it may be a way of demonstrating his power over you. In any case, you will need to be ready to hurt Geralt to save him. Do you understand?”_

_“Hurt him how?” Jaskier's stomach tightened with dread. Each new demand of his plan made him despair of accomplishing all he needed to do._

_“We’ll prepare a few options.”_  
\--

“What did you have in mind?” Jaskier thought he knew where Lord Iwen’s interests lay, but Prince Kacper wouldn’t make any assumptions. 

“Simple enough,” said Lord Iwen. “Get him to submit to you. He hasn't let anyone fuck him in weeks, no matter what threats I made. But perhaps he just needs a firmer hand.”

“That does sound simple enough,” Jaskier said mildly. _In weeks_ , Iwen had said, as if that were a long time; that meant Lord Iwen and probably others had been fucking him regularly befor then. Jaskier’s mind skittered away from that thought. “When?”

“I didn’t have any entertainment planned for this evening,” Iwen said genially. “If it’s not inconvenient.”

“Not at all.” If Jaskier had to wait, he might go out of his mind with fretting. Better to get it over with. “It’s my pleasure.”

“And there's no reason this can't be done in comfort,” said Lord Iwen. “Guard!” Two guards had been standing at bored attention near the door on the other side of the room, and one of them jumped forward to attend. “Give the witcher his medicine, and bring him to my solar. Mind you take enough men to hold him.” The guard nodded and left the room with his head hanging a little.

“Well, gentlemen, shall we adjourn?” Iwen set aside his goblet and rose.

“Please, lead the way,” Jaskier said, giving an exaggerated bow.  
\--

_“You’re supposed to be a renowned performer.” Yennefer scowled with him, hands planted on her hips._

_“I’m a singer, not a player.” Jaskier flung himself into a chair and began sorting through the bottles on the side table, looking for a full one. “It’s not the same.”_

_“You should be able to control your voice, at least. You don’t sound at all like a spoiled sadistic prince. You sound like a self-conscious bard.”_

_“I know.” That was more than half the reason Jaskier was so irritated at having it pointed out. If he wasn’t convincing in his role as Prince Kacper, he wouldn’t be able to rescue Geralt. And if he couldn’t rescue Geralt, Geralt would remain unrescued, and that just would not do. “If it’s so easy, why don’t you do it?”_

_“If I could, I would. I can’t.” Yennefer dropped into the chair opposite him and glared. “There’s too big a chance I’d be recognized by another sorcerer.”_

_“And there’s not a chance I’ll be recognized?” Jaskier protested._

_“No,” Yennefer said simply. When Jaskier spluttered in outrage, she continued. “After I’m done dressing you, you won’t look like a bard.”_

_“Oh,” Jaskier said, somewhat mollified._

_“Come on, I’ll show you what I had in mind.” Yennefer stood and grabbed Jaskier’s hand to pull him to his feet. “Maybe some new clothes will cheer you up.”_

_“Do you think I’m as shallow as all that?” Jaskier asked in mock outrage as he let himself be led._

_“We must take our pleasures where we can find them.” She turned back to give him a sad smile, then pulled him onwards. “Come on, I got you a pretty hat.”_  
\--

Lord Iwen’s solar was well-appointed and warm, with thick rugs on the floor and a blazing fire in the hearth. A few overstuffed chairs and piles of pillows were all the furniture. Shelves and racks lined the walls, holding elegant displays of supplies: vials of oil labeled with the names of herbs and flowers; short, well-sharpened blades of various sizes and shapes; a lash with supple leather tails. Jaskier paced along one wall, running his fingers over a selection of canes ranging from willow-thin to as thick as a finger’s breadth while Iwen and Baran situated themselves and the servants brought more wine. 

“Your facilities are lovely,” Jaskier said. He wondered if many of the other guests were brought to this room, and if there were others in the manor even now taking their pleasure with other prisoners. He shut the thought out of his mind. He was here for Geralt.

“Thank you. We’ve amassed quite a collection over the years,” Lord Iwen said graciously. “Is there anything you’ll need? We have all the basics here.”

“You’re very kind. I’ve brought my own supplies.” Jaskier patted the pouch hanging from his belt. It held nothing that had alarmed the guards when they’d searched him upon his arrival, but then again, nothing Yennefer had given him was as obvious as a blade or a poison.

“Now remember, prince,” Baran put in, a bit nervously, “We cannot guarantee that he won’t fight back-- as the lord said, he’s been difficult lately--but the concoction they’re giving him will dull his reflexes enough for you to have a chance.”

“I’m not concerned,” Jaskier said breezily. Though he was, more than a bit. In a fair fight, Geralt would be able to kill him in seconds. However, as Iwen had said, this fight would not be fair. And if luck were with him, Geralt would recognize what he was trying to do and help. 

“You came well-prepared, I’ll give you that, prince,” Iwen said. 

“I’ve been thinking of this day for a long time.” 

“You haven't told me,” Lord Iwen said. “Why the witcher? Is it just a general fascination with the breed, or a personal matter?”

“You could say it’s personal,” Jaskier trailed his finger over the frame of a case that held a selection of elegantly carved wooden phalluses. 

“Go on.” Iwen leaned forward eagerly.

Jaskier paused for a moment, then decided that this wasn’t one of the times that the bare minimum would serve him best. “Many years ago,” he began, “this witcher failed in an agreement he’d made with me. Because of that, I lost someone I loved dearly. And in all the years since then, every day I've thought about what I lost, and I promised myself that if I had the chance I would pay him back for what he did.” Jaskier turned to Iwen and gave a shallow nod. “Now thanks to you, I have the chance.”

Iwen's eyes widened at his vehemence. “Well, you might be a match for him after all.”  
\--

_“I still don’t believe you.” Yennefer sighed and raised her hands to her head to massage her temples. “You sound too friendly. These people don’t respect kindness; they respect cruelty. Can’t you pretend?”_

_“It’s hard to pretend to be someone this odious.” Jaskier wiped his hands on his breeches, as if that would remove the crawling feeling he was left with after pretending to be Prince Kacper._

_“Aren’t you angry with him? With Geralt?” she asked._

_“No--what--?”_

_“You should be.”_

_“And why’s that?” Jaskier crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at her._

_“Because he abandoned you. He promised to return, and then he didn’t.”_

_It was all too easy for Jaskier to recall rising, all-consuming dread he’d felt when Geralt hadn’t arrived that winter: hadn’t arrived and kept failing to arrive. “That’s not--”_

_“He made you fall in love with him, and then he left. He disappeared, leaving every possible evidence he could that he was dead. And you’re almost certain he’s not coming back, but you can’t be entirely sure, so there’s that little knife blade of hope that twists and twists.”_

_“Yennefer--” Jaskier turned away, but she followed him doggedly._

_“It’s because of him that you have that hole in your chest that aches every single day, that you can do nothing about. And then come to find out he is alive after all, and he’s been in agony, tortured, imprisoned, and then you have to live with the knowledge that you did nothing all that time.”_

_“Stop.” Jaskier pushed out a hand to shove her away, but she caught it and held him._

_“He was careless enough to get himself captured and hurt and you weren’t there to stop it. And if he had just done what he was supposed to and come back to you, none of this would have happened. You should hate him. You should be angry. This is all his fault.”_

_“Yes, I'm angry! All right? I’m angry!” he shouted at her, jerking out of her grasp. He was shaking, heart thumping in his chest, his hand curled into a tight fist at his side._

_She just watched him for a moment, not snapping back at him for once. Then she held out her arms, and he fell into them and pressed his face into her shoulder, with furious tears making tracks down his cheeks._

_“I miss him,” he said after the silence had gone on too long. “I miss him, Yen.”_

_“Me too,” she whispered. “That doesn’t mean you can’t be mad as well. You have to hold onto that anger. Nurse that flame and carry it with you, understand?” She gently pushed Jaskier to arm’s length to look at him. “They’ll see the sincerity in your anger, and they’ll assume you’re one of them. You can apologize after you’ve both escaped.”_  



	2. Chapter 2

The guard returned with half a dozen armed fellows, leading an unresisting Geralt, naked and bound with his wrists behind his back. His bristly hair was wet, and he shivered even in the warm chamber. He had seemed smaller, lying down in that cell, but he was still a powerfully built man, if all lean muscle and sinew now. They led him to the center of the room, which was bare of furniture

"Ah, here is our boy,” Iwen crooned. “Always such a lovely sight. You can leave him,” he said to the guards.

One of the guards untied the rope binding Geralt’s hands. Then they let him go, and he swayed on his feet. Though his eyes were that unreadable milky white, there were other tells of his impaired state. He swayed slowly back and forth, and his mouth was slightly open, as if he were having trouble getting enough breath.

“Be careful,” Lord Iwen said. "He is a bit more docile in this state, but he's still quite fast and strong.”

“I know,” Jaskier said. He’d seen Geralt underplay his skills to draw an opponent in time after time. He had no intention of underestimating the witcher. He stepped towards the open center of the room, careful to stay out of Geralt's reach.  
\--

_”He may not know you,” Yennefer said. “There is no telling what they've done to his mind. His will is strong, but no one can hold out forever. So we can't gamble on him recognizing you and cooperating. He has never been very cooperative. You'll need to be able to subdue him, even if he fights you."_

_“I don't think I can hurt him,” Jaskier said._

_“Well, not on your own, obviously.”_

_“No, I know.” Jaskier picked a nearly-invisible bit of dust off of his doublet. “I mean I don't think I can.”_

_“Fine.” Yennefer crossed her arms over her chest. “Then you may as well give him up for lost now. You want to help him, you may have to hurt him first. If you can't do it, we shouldn't go through with this. If you’re discovered, or if they won't sell him to you, that will likely only make things worse for him. So which is it, Jaskier? Do you want to keep your hands clean, or do you want to get him out?”_  
\--

Jaskier approached cautiously, with the sachet Yennefer had given him clutched in his right hand. This was the most dangerous part, because Geralt was easily capable of killing Jaskier with his bare hands before Jaskier could even react. But Geralt merely stood there in the center of the room, staring straight ahead with those blank eyes.

The guards who’d brought him stepped back, flattening themselves against the walls and clutching their weapons. Iwen and Baran were a bit more subtle, but they certainly weren’t coming closer to watch the proceedings. Jaskier felt a surge of ridiculous pride that they were still so afraid of Geralt, even hampered as he was by whatever they’d done to him. Of course, that meant Jaskier had reason to be afraid of him as well.

“Witcher,” Jaskier said. “Come here and kneel.”  
\--

_“Don't use his name,” Yennefer said._

_“Am I not supposed to know his name?” Jaskier asked. “I thought I was supposed to recognize him.”_

_“Even if you did, the prince would not see him as a person, someone who deserves a name. Besides, the reason Iwen has him is not personal. He wanted a witcher for his collection, and Geralt is who he found. So no, you may not use his name. I also don't believe you can say it without sounding fond.”_

_“I could,” Jaskier protested._

_“Let's hear it, then,” said Yennefer._

_“Geralt,” said Jaskier, in what he judged to be a neutral tone._

_“No.”_

_“Geralt,” Jaskier tried again, but Yennefer was already shaking her head._

_“Witcher,” she said, and the snap of command in her voice made Jaskier start. “To me, now. On your knees.”_  
\--

Jaskier held back a bout of hysterical laughter when he heard Yennefer's tone coming out of his mouth. However, it seemed to have the desired effect, both on Geralt, who stepped slowly towards him, and on his audience, who sat up a little straighter and leaned forward in anticipation.

When Geralt stepped within arms reach, Jaskier tensed, knowing that he was in greater danger now than before, but Geralt merely stopped, eyes on the floor.

“What did I tell you to do, witcher?” Jaskier asked. His hand closed more tightly on the sachet, tensed and ready to move. There was still a chance Geralt recognized him and would be able to play along. Sight wasn’t the only sense witchers used to identify people, after all.

Geralt lifted his head as if to look at Jaskier, and his lips pressed into a straight line. “You said to kneel,” he said. His voice was rough and weak, little more than a rumbling whisper.

“I’m waiting,” Jaskier said.

Geralt stood for a moment, seemingly considering, but then he obediently sank to his knees. Forewarned by years of living with the recalcitrant witcher, Jaskier was ready when, as soon as Geralt reached the floor, there came a blur of motion, a hand lashing out to strike Jaskier. Geralt, whether he’d recognized Jaskier or not, was obviously not planning to cooperate. 

Jaskier danced out of reach and pivoted, whirling around to position himself behind Geralt's back. He slapped the hand with the sachet in it over Geralt's mouth, thinking _please don't bite, please don't bite_ as the sachet let out a puff of violet powder.

Geralt jerked back, trying to throw Jaskier off, but he breathed in as he did so, immediately getting a lung full of the powder Yennefer had prepared. He coughed, and his movements became more of a confused writhing than a concerted effort to buck Jaskier off.

Still, it was no easy task to hold on to him as he tried to push to his feet, shaking his head vigorously. After a moment, Jaskier let go and shoved with both hands, the better to get out of the range of Geralt’s fists, and Geralt shoved to his feet, swaying. He wavered a moment, before falling back to one knee, still coughing.  
\--

_“You could hurt him physically, but that’s not particularly impressive. Any idiot can hit a bound man,” Yennefer said. She was grinding something with her mortar and pestle that sent purple dust rising into the air. Jaskier stayed well back and watched with a skeptical eye. “And I doubt you’re capable of beating him badly enough that he’d submit, magical help or not.”_

_“So I don’t have to hit him?” Jaskier asked._

_“Not much. What will impress them is cruelty. Humiliation. All the little entertainments men of wealth like to visit upon those in their power. And as a bonus, humiliation won’t make it any more difficult for him to walk out uninjured.”_

_“Assuming he’s willing to walk out with me at all,” Jaskier muttered._

_“He will, because he’ll have to.”_  
\--

“What was that?” Lord Iwen asked. He sounded downright delighted.

“A little something my sorcerer has developed.” Jaskier kept his eyes on Geralt, in case he was only feigning his distress. Yennfer hadn’t been certain how much of the powder needed to be inhaled to make it effective. “I use it on my playthings when they're not feeling cooperative. Of course it did need to be modified somewhat to hold a witcher, but I think it will do.”

“I'm eager to see,” said Lord Iwen, and settled back in his chair.

By now, Geralt was breathing hard and shaking a little. Jaskier risked a few steps closer, and slowly sank to one knee. “Look at me,” he said. Geralt's head raised slowly, turning up to face Jaskier. Although his eyes were still sightless, clearly all his senses were focused on Jaskier.

Jaskier reached out a hand and brushed the backs of his fingers against Geralt's cheek, where there was a new jagged scar under the stubble. Jaskier would not think about that. “That's better, isn't it?” Jaskier asked

“Yes,” Geralt said. The word was gritted out through his teeth, as though he was trying with all his might to keep it back.

“Good boy,” Jaskier said, and Geralt shivered. Behind him, he heard Lord Iwen chuckle. “Now, I think you have an apology to make. You tried to hit me just now, didn't you?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, the word escaping him in a rush after several seconds of attempting not to answer.

“Should you have done that?” Jaskier asked.

“No,” Geralt said, and his voice was so quiet Jaskier had to strain to hear.

“I'll have to punish you for misbehaving,” Jaskier said.

“I'm sorry,” Geralt said thickly.

“Well, you will be,” Jaskier said. He would be sorrier, sooner, but that he would not let on. He had promised Yennefer he would do what needed to be done.  
\--

_“What exactly does this do?” Jaskier asked, looking at the little sachet filled with mysterious powder._

_“It will make him obey you,” Yennefer said._

_“Like you did to him in Rinde?”_

_“Not quite. There, I had complete control.” Yennefer tipped her head forward, and her hair swung over her face, hiding her smile. “No, this will only compel him to do as you wish. Its power is impressive, but it’s helpful if you word your commands clearly. Once he realizes that it’s magic, he should stop fighting it.”_

_“That doesn’t sound very like Geralt,” Jaskier said dubiously._

_“Well, perhaps your optimism is rubbing off on me.”_  
\--

“Come over here,” Jaskier said. “No, crawl.”

Geralt sunk down onto all fours and moved towards where Jaskier stood with stiff, halting motions. His jaw was clenched tight, and the muscles of his back showed in tense relief, as if following the orders caused him physical pain. 

Jaskier schooled his face to pleasant patience. He hadn’t realized, though perhaps he should have, that compelling Geralt to obey rather than physically forcing him would cause Geralt greater distress. Yennefer hadn’t told Jaskier the spell would be that way. “I didn’t tell you because it would have been harder for you to use it,” whispered the Yennefer in his head. “You didn’t know, so you aren’t to blame.”

Somehow, Jaskier didn’t feel any less to blame when Geralt stopped in front of him, managing to convey the effect of a menacing glare without the use of his eyes. 

“Now, what do we do with naughty witchers?”

Geralt’s jaw twitched as if he were trying to speak, and Jaskier only just managed to avoid a smile thinking of all the scathing retorts Geralt would normally deliver. Then any spark of amusement faded with the realization that he was needlessly keeping Geralt waiting. The sooner he began this business, the sooner it could be over. “We teach them to respect their betters,” he said quickly. 

Jaskier unbucked the leather belt at his waist. He carried no weapon, so he had only a plain, thick length of leather to work with, fastened around a ring at one end. He doubled over the strap in his hand and stood behind Geralt and slightly to the left. He stretched his arm, trying out the range, and told himself he remembered how to do this, that he’d practiced, damn it. He could see Lord Iwen out of the corner of his eye, leaning forward again. 

“You keep count, witcher, understand?”

“Yes,” Geralt spat out.

“You may call me sir, or your royal highness.”

Geralt managed several seconds of resistance before, “Yes, sir,” was torn from him.

Jaskier pulled back his arm and struck.  
\--

_“Do you know how to cane a man?” Yennefer asked._

_“Or a woman?” Jaskier asked with a playfulness that didn’t quite land._

_“I’ll take that as a no,” Yennefer said dryly. “A whip?”_

_“No. I thought you said physical punishment wouldn’t be necessary.”_

_“I said not much. Might be necessary for a bit of foreplay. Or Lord Iwen might demand it of you.” Yennefer sighed. “They do tend to go for the traditional in places like these.”_

_Jaskier realized he was bouncing his leg nervously. He tried to hold still but couldn’t. “I hate this.”_

_“Jaskier--”_

_“Oh, I hate this.” He sprang out of his chair and paced in front of the fire, dragging a hand through his hair._

_“Really.” Yennefer looked at him, unimpressed. “You hate this worse than having to fuck him?”_

_“Well, I know that in the ordinary course of things, he wouldn’t mind me fucking him,” Jaskier said, spreading his arms wide. “Whereas I do think he would object to receiving a caning.”_

_Yennefer opened her mouth, then shut it again, and Jaskier narrowed his eyes at her. “Wait--”_

_“We’ll teach you both, plus the strap,” she said decisively. “You never know what will come in handy.”_  
\--

“Ten,” Geralt grunted, almost before Jaskier had drawn back his arm. The pale skin of his ass had begun to turn pink, but the pain could hardly have been more than an inconvenience compared to what Geralt was capable of enduring. He hadn’t cried out at all, but his head hung low, and his hands were balled into fists. Whatever Yennefer thought, he certainly didn’t seem to be enjoying this.

Jaskier stopped a moment to give his arm a rest, and glanced at Lord Iwen, who was watching the proceedings with an assessing eye.

“Is something wrong, my lord?” Jaskier asked. “Perhaps you think I’m going too easy on him.”

“He’s certainly capable of more,” Iwen said, a little impatiently.

Jaskier walked back to the chairs, picked up his wine cup, and took a sip. Then he said, “Witchers heal quickly from most wounds, I’ve heard.”

“That’s been my observation,” Iwen agreed. 

Jaskier offered him a smile, aiming for “insufferably smug,” and figuring that he landed at least at “suavely knowing,” and plopped into the chair beside Iwen. “My theory, sir, is that pain is so familiar to them as to be almost welcome. A distraction from other things they may be less able to endure.”

“Such as what?” Iwen raised an eyebrow.

Jaskier set down his wine, pushed to his feet, and stepped back to the center of the room where Geralt still held his position on all fours. “Witcher, tell me you’d like some more punishment.”

“I’d like some more punishment,” Geralt growled. 

“Ask me nicely.”

“Please punish me, sir,” he gritted out, sounding as if he were suffering a gut wound.

“You see?” Jaskier said to Iwen.

“Yes, very interesting.” Iwen glanced at Baran, and they both wore anticipatory smiles. 

“Right, witcher, since you ask so prettily, I’ll oblige you.” Jaskier raised the strap again and brought it down, raised it and brought it down to the rhythmic accompaniment of Geralt’s counting. He continued until Geralt’s ass was thoroughly reddened, and Geralt had begun to make small, pained noises between the numbers. Beyond him, Jaskier could see Lord Iwen leaning forward, hands on his knees, greedily drinking in the sounds of Geralt’s distress. 

Jaskier let the belt drop and shook out his hand. He kept his focus on Geralt, so he wouldn’t have to think of how much he’d pleased Lord Iwen. “I hope you appreciate my efforts. Say thank you, witcher.”

Geralt took a few deep breaths, then said, “Thank you, witcher.”

Cursing his careless phrasing, Jaskier dropped to one knee in front of Geralt, dangerously close to his teeth and his fists. He grabbed Geralt’s chin in his hand and said, with placid patience, “Try again. Properly.”

“Thank you, your royal highness,” Geralt said in clipped, precise tones. 

“That’s better. I knew you could behave.” Jaskier pushed to his feet and chanced another glance at Lord Iwen. His eyes were fixed on Geralt; he seemed perhaps amused, but not fully convinced, or not yet, anyway. That meant Jaskier needed to do something a bit more impressive.  
\--

_“Take this.” Yennefer handed Jaskier a locket on a plain gold chain._

_“What is it?” Jaskier asked, turning it over in his hand. Yennefer reached out and pushed the locket’s face, which pivoted on a pin to reveal a cavity filled with a thicky, greasy-looking salve._

_“Put some on your skin,” she said._

_“Uh, no.” Jaskier held it to his face and sniffed; it didn’t smell unpleasant, perhaps a little like sage. “Is it poison?”_

_“I can’t dispose of you until we get Geralt back,” she said tartly. “It’s a common magical remedy in a portable form.”_

_“What kind of remedy?”_

_“A cure for impotence.”_

_“Yen!” He shoved the locket back towards her, but she made no move to take it. “I am not--”_

_“Men are obsessed with cockstands.” She waved a hand towards Jaskier’s crotch. “Who can get it up and for how long. It’s all they think about!”_

_“That’s not true,” Jaskier sputtered._

_“It’s true for these men. And in any case, does seeing Geralt in pain turn you on? No matter how you’re feeling or what state he’s in, you’ll need to be able to fuck him,” Yennefer said. “I don’t think if he’s demanding that you stop, cursing and fighting you, that you’ll be able to get it up.”_

_All Jaskier’s righteous indignation rushed out of him, and he shook his head. It was easy enough--the stuff of his fantasies actually--to call up memories of Geralt in bed, Geralt eager and attentive, Geralt wanton and wrecked, and be hard in an instant. But with the real Geralt before him, anything but eager... no. Not even fantasy could get him past such a sight._

_“Of course not.” Jaskier looked down at the locket, and suddenly he didn’t have any trouble at all picturing Geralt angry and defiant, turning him away, berating him--the stuff of his nightmares. Faced with that Geralt, he had no hope of performing without magical assistance. “You’re right.”_

_“Take the locket, Jaskier,” Yennefer said gently. “You’ll need all the help you can get.”_  
\--

“Up on your knees,” Jaskier said. Geralt rose to his knees slowly. He looked the very picture of a reluctant concubine, with his sullen expression and reddened bottom. Jaskier hoped the view would keep Iwen and Baran occupied. 

Jaskier stripped off his tunic and the shirt underneath, pausing as he did to nudge open the locket and slide his thumb through the salve. It wouldn’t take long; Yennefer had made him test various formulations until she found one whose effect was nearly instantaneous. He let his clothing fall to the floor and stepped in front of Geralt, who immediately turned his attention to him as Jaskier had seen him turn towards a dangerous monster.

“Now, you’re going to suck my cock.” Jaskier held up a finger at the incredulous look on Geralt’s face. “You’re going to do it nicely, as if I’m a lover you’re trying to please. Do you understand?”

“Yes, your royal highness,” Geralt said in a tone that rather sounded like, “I will tear your entrails out.”

“Go on, then,” Jaskier said with what he thought was remarkable bravado, though he also said a silent prayer to Melitele that Yennefer’s enchantments were enough to keep him safe. 

With an expression of absolute disgust, Geralt reached out to tug at the laces of Jaskier’s breeches. Jaskier kept his hands at his sides, letting Geralt do the work of maneuvering Jaskier’s breeches and smallclothes out of the way. As soon as Jaskier’s cock--rapidly hardening, thanks to a little magical help--was exposed, Geralt leaned forward to wrap his lips around it and began to suck. Jaskier kept his instinctual moan behind his teeth; the sensation was pleasant, of course, but Geralt’s disdain was written clearly on his face, and the expression killed any genuine pleasure Jaskier might have felt. 

Pasting on a smile, Jaskier turned to Lord Iwen and saw him palming a bulge in his breeches. “You see, my lord? Never too late to teach an old wolf new tricks.”

“I’ve never seen him submit to that before, not for anything,” Baran said in an awed tone.

“Most men would rather stick their prick in a bear trap,” Iwen agreed. “But what a sight he is.”

“I’ll admit it’s much easier when you needn’t win them over with kind words or threats. Take it all now, there’s a dear.” Jaskier pushed Geralt onto his cock with a hand at the back of his head. Geralt gagged only a little, but didn’t stop following Jaskier’s instructions, sucking on Jaskier’s cock with vigor if not enthusiasm. “Some say it’s cheating to use magic to train your pets, but I believe the end result justifies the means.”

“It’s a lovely result, I’ll give you that,” Iwen said with a delighted chuckle.  
\--

_“You can improvise whole songs on the lute,” Yennefer said, the irritation rising in her voice. “I’ve seen you do it.”_

_“I like the lute,” Jaskier retorted. “There is nothing likeable about the fair Prince Kacper.”_

_“What’s likable about Prince Kacper is that he has a chance of retrieving Geralt, which Yennefer of Vengerberg and Jaskier the bard do not have and will never have!” She sighed and spoke again, more calmly. “The better you are at pretending to be a horrible, sadistic bully, the likelier it is that our plan will succeed.”_

_“I understand that. I don’t…” Jaskier hung his head and rubbed at the back of his neck, where he could feel a headache starting. When he sang this ballad or that, it was easy enough to put himself in the mindset of the hero or young lover, to imagine what they might be thinking or feeling, and to channel that into his music. But he had nothing in common with this prince they’d concocted, and couldn’t bring himself to pretend, even for a moment, that he was someone who would be pleased to do those things he’d have to do. Though of course, he had to be able to pretend. He would. For Geralt. Somehow. “It doesn’t exactly come naturally.”_

_Yennefer looked at him for a long moment. “Do you know what the worst thing is about reading minds?”_

_“You can’t read minds,” Jaskier said, on the verge of a laugh. At her expression, he said, “Can you read minds?”_

_“It’s that people are terrible, Jaskier. Truly awful. I served at court for decades, but people were somehow always finding new ways to impress me with their cruelty.” She stared at him another beat, then said, “I’d like to try something.”_

_“Does it involve reading my mind?” he asked, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. It wasn’t precisely that he had any secrets Yennefer hadn’t already ferreted out. It was just that there were some memories that seemed all the more precious because he was the only one who held them._

_“Not exactly. Come sit.” Yennefer settled onto a rug by the hearth. Jaskier followed and slowly folded himself cross-legged in front of her. He tried to relax, not to hold himself ready for an attack. He didn’t really think Yennefer would hurt him, but he also didn’t imagine that what she had in mind would be pleasant._

_“Look at me,” she said. “Just try to be open.”_

_Jaskier stared into her violet eyes, which really were quite lovely and deep and enticing. He’d never looked directly at her for so long before. He could hear the fire crackling, and feel his ankle complaining about the position he was sitting in, and he wondered how long Yennefer would try whatever-this-was before giving up._

_Then he felt a tug in his chest, and his mind reeled with an influx of thoughts and words and memories, all tinged with a slightly lavender haze that felt like Yennefer. The contents of the barage were all a jumble, but Jaskier could pick up flashes and voices: the cruelest, most lascivious thoughts; sick, erotic pleasure at another’s desperation; a splash of blood and a cry for help; pure, unashsamed glee at forcing subjegation; “Do you like that, poppet? I know you do,” said with the knowledge of anything but; the sound of fast, shallow breaths saturated with fear; an unbearably strong yearning to inflict harm; the feel of a body beneath his, struggling; arousal, thick and heavy, stoked at the sound of crying; an obscene joy at the culmination of a sadistic plot; the taste of coppery-bright blood in his mouth; the sight of a wide-eyed, terrified face and the deep satisfaction that sight engendered._

_The deluge disappeared, pulled out of him like poison being drawn from a wound, and Jaskier fell backwards, gasping for breath. His stomach roiled, and he turned on his side just in time to be sick on the stone floor rather than the rug. He lay gulping in air, too weak to pick up his head. When he closed his eyes, he could see the images again, hear the voices._

_“That worked rather better than expected,” Yennefer said from somewhere far away. She came closer, and hummed speculatively. “Perhaps a bit too well.”_

_Jaskier felt a hand on his shoulder and flinched away. He could feel the memories in his body, and though most were of pleasure, it was a kind he wanted no part of. He scratched at his skin, which didn’t help much, but did distract him from the crawling sensations of lingering touch._

_“Come, sit up.” Yennefer pulled him firmly upright and put a warm mug in his hand. “Drink this.”_

_Jaskier sipped at what she’d given him-- a fragrant mulled wine--and stared into the fire, seeing the scenes he’d been shown playing over and over. Yennefer sat down next to him and draped a blanket over his shoulders. “They get less vivid, after a while.”_

_“Oh,” he said dully. “Good.”_

_“Jaskier--”_

_“It’s fine,” he said quickly. He didn’t need an apology. Wasn’t owed an apology. “Well, it’s not fine, it’s awful, but I understand. It’s one thing to imagine how a man like that thinks. It’s another to know… to know from the inside.”_

_“I thought it might help,” Yennefer said quietly._

_“It does. It will.”_

_“Here, look at me again.” She reached for his hand and he flinched away._

_“I can’t right now, please. If--”_

_“This is different. A little taste of sweet to chase away the bitter.”_

_“All right,” Jaskier said warily. He set aside his mug and turned to look again into her eyes. She stared back at him with a frown of concentration._

_Then Jaskier saw a riverbank, hazy in the light of a summer evening, with the burbling of water over rocks and the songs of birds filling the air. Yennefer sat on the bank, cutting up an apple with a knife, and Jaskier could feel the firm flesh of the fruit in her hands, and the tart burst of flavor as she bit into a piece of the apple-- this must be her memory. She looked up to watch Jaskier and Geralt splashing around in the water, naked skin glowing in the sun’s last rays. Jaskier launched himself at Geralt and clung to his back, and Geralt bore him down into the water so they both came up sputtering._

_Yennefer laughed at them, and the two glanced at each other before Geralt whispered something to Jaskier. They both turned to fling water towards her, shouting with laughter as she cursed at them and threw down the apple to join in the fray._

_The memory faded, and Jaskier was left looking into Yennefer’s eyes. This time she turned away first. Jaskier picked up his wine again and settled the blanket more firmly on his shoulders._

_“I’m sorry all this is necessary,” she said, turning to sit beside him, facing the fire. “I’d do it on my own if I could.”_

_“You don’t have to do it on your own.” Jaskier leaned into her shoulder, just a little._  
\--

Jaskier squeezed his hand on the back of Geralt’s neck and pulled Geralt off his cock. “Good boy,” he said. Geralt bared his teeth in a silent snarl. 

Silently thanking Yennefer that snarling was the worst Geralt could do right now, Jaskier tucked his spit-slicked cock back into his breeches and produced a vial of oil from his pouch. He held it out and said, “Use this to prepare yourself.”

Geralt simply looked between Jaskier and the bottle, as if questioning his instructions.

“Or do you want me to fuck you dry?” Jaskier asked patiently. 

Geralt quickly took the bottle from him, pulled out the stopper, and looked at it dubiously. The scent of lilac and gooseberries, Yennefer’s own special formulation, drifted up from the bottle, but Geralt didn’t seem to notice. If it had done anything to trigger his memory, he was doing an excellent job of hiding it. Geralt poured some onto his fingers, then reached back to push them inside. His scowl was fiercer than ever, but he worked his fingers with a will. 

Satisfied that he was being obeyed, Jaskier turned back to Lord Iwen, whose eyes were greedily fixed on Geralt. At least he had the man’s attention. Jaskier picked up his wine and took a sip. “Do you want some wine, witcher?” he called.

Geralt paused in his ministrations to turn his head in Jaskier’s direction, and Jaskier realized with a pang that it was likely he hadn’t been fed or watered in some time. “Yes,” Geralt said warily.

“Do you want it enough to say please?” Jaskier asked, because even though he’d only meant to tease Geralt, he couldn’t just give him something without making him work for it. Any hint of kindness under Lord Iwen’s eye would rather undermine the image he was trying to create.

Geralt scowled again and went back to shoving his fingers mechanically into his body. “No,” he snapped. 

“Ah well. At least he’s honest,” Jaskier said, and took another sip himself before turning to Lord Iwen. “Tell me, is he this charming with all your guests?”

“I’ve never heard him say so many words in an evening,” Iwen said. “I must admit it is amusing.”

“I take it most guests aren’t interested in his conversation.” Jaskier glanced over his shoulder to look at Geralt, who was only half-heartedly moving his hand. “Three fingers, witcher dear. You’re preparing to take a real cock.” He turned back to Iwen. “You were saying?”

“No,” Iwen answered, though his eyes stayed fixed on Geralt. “His body is the main point of interest. Some guests are fond of the sight of his scars. Others enjoy the feeling of all that raw strength at their mercy. Then there are those, like you, with a personal score to settle.”

“Really?” Jaskier raised his voice to call to Geralt. “Witcher, put some effort into it. Let the gentlemen see you enjoying yourself.” He lifted his cup towards Iwen. “My apologies. Do go on.”

“Right,” Iwen said, somewhat distractedly, as he leaned forward for a better view of Geralt’s movements. “There are those, like you, who’ve lost a loved one to a witcher’s negligence, or suffered the attentions of a monster a witcher should already have killed, or who have some other real or imagined grudge. They tend to be the most enthusiastic. Revenge can be a powerful aphrodisiac, for some. ”

“I know. Speaking of which, excuse me a moment.” Jaskier set down his wine. Despite his lack of enthusiasm, Geralt had likely done enough to make the next step marginally less painful for them both. “That’s enough, witcher. Come here and make yourself useful. Bring that oil.”

Jaskier settled on the floor with his legs in front of him, and pulled his thankfully still-hard cock out of his pants. Geralt approached, crawling awkwardly with the vial of oil in his hand, and scowled at Jaskier. Jaskier cursed inwardly as he saw Geralt’s hard cock hanging heavily under him. Jaskier had just said to show he was having a good time, which must have been enough to have the force of a command. He had meant to spare Geralt that particular humiliation, but there was nothing for it now but to muddle through. And perhaps taking some physical enjoyment from the act would make this less unpleasant for Geralt.

“There’s no reason I should have to do all the work,” Jaskier said with forced brightness, and gestured down his body. “Straddle, ride. It’s not a difficult concept.” He snatched the oil from Geralt’s hand and poured a generous measure over his cock. 

With quick, jerky motions like a puppet, Geralt knelt astride him, with an expression like a man going to the gallows. 

“Witcher.” Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s chin in his hand, even though he was certain he already had his attention. “You’re going to fuck yourself on my cock, and you’re going to do it as if the only thing that matters is pleasing me. Because the only thing that matters _is_ pleasing me. Understand?”

“Yes, your royal highness,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

“Good.” Jaskier released his grip and leaned back. “You may begin.”

Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s cock in a firm but controlled grip, and pushed himself down onto it in one determined movement. His face was a furious mask, his teeth bared in a snarl even as he began to ride Jaskier. He settled his hands on Jaskier’s chest and rose up only to slide down again, clenching deliciously tight. Jaskier braced his elbows on the floor behind him to give Geralt room to work. The witcher moved his hips expertly, settling into a just-right rhythm that would have felt perfect if Jaskier had been able to ignore how absolutely miserable Geralt looked. 

Jaskier felt a sudden stab of fear that he wouldn’t be able to do this. Yennefer might have exaggerated a bit about men caring only about cockstands; if he couldn’t fucking finish, Iwen would not be very impressed. And there was no way that Jaskier could come while Geralt looked as if he would rather take any number of knife wounds than be fucking him. 

“You can enjoy this, too,” Jaskier said, loud enough for the others to hear. “Surely you know how to pleasure yourself like this.” He knew, in fact, that the witcher very much enjoyed riding Jaskier’s cock under normal circumstances, though he doubted enjoyment of this experience was anywhere in Geralt’s mind.

Geralt grunted, and his look of anger changed to one of dismay as he adjusted his angle and arched his back. He caught a gasp between his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut as his stiff cock gave an interested twitch. 

“I’ve been thinking about this for years, how I’d put you in your place,” Jaskier said as he ran a hand down Geralt’s chest. “Come on, witcher, scream for me.” Jaskier rolled his hips, and Geralt let out a shout, hopefully prompted more by the magic compulsion than anything Jaskier was doing.

Jaskier heard Iwen and Baran whispering behind him, but he had no attention to spare. He needed to reach climax, and he couldn’t do that while Geralt was suffering. Jaskier wrapped a hand around Geralt’s cock and began to stroke. Geralt made an abortive sound of protest, but his powerful thighs continued to carry him up and down, working himself on Jaskier’s cock. 

“That’s right,” Jaskier said softly. “Let me hear you.” He squeezed the head of Geralt’s cock just the way he liked it, and Geralt let out a high-pitched whine. “Does that feel good?”

“Yes.” Geralt ground down against him, curling forward as Jaskier stroked his cock with more than a decade’s worth of expertise in Geralt’s particular preferences. His breath was starting to come faster, and Jaskier listened for the tell-tale sharp intakes of breath that meant Geralt was close. He found the right rhythm at last, the one that made Geralt gasp for air. In response Geralt moved faster, bouncing on Jaskier’s cock at a desperate pace. 

“Do you want to come for me, hmm? Show me how much you like me taking charge of you?” Jaskier asked, tracing gently around the head of Geralt’s cock with his thumb. “Do you want to come on my cock?” He could almost imagine they were alone, and he was making Geralt work for his release, teasing him and baiting him until he couldn’t do anything but come.

“Yes,” Geralt replied, and it was almost a sob.

Behind him, he heard Iwen’s cruel laugh, and shut it out of his mind.

“Ask nicely, then.” Jaskier tried to see the image of how it would be if this were just the two of them: Geralt’s warm amber eyes narrowed and impatient, the snarl on his face playful as he waited for Geralt’s permission to finish. 

“Please, your royal highness,” Geralt panted, “may I come on your cock?” The mental image of Geralt happy, of Geralt enjoying this, began to crack at the anger in his voice.

“Yes, witcher, you may,” Jaskier said as quickly as he could.

Geralt wrapped a hand around the back of Jaskier’s neck, cradling his head. And yes, perhaps he could easily break Jaskier’s neck from there, but it felt so much like something Geralt would do that Jaskier gasped. Geralt’s thumb moved gently across Jaskiers skin, and for a moment, a wild hope leapt in Jaskier’s breast: Geralt knew him after all, had just been playing along, and was trying to give Jaskier a sign. 

Then Geralt let out a cry that could only be called agonized, and jerked in Jaskier’s hand as he spilled his seed. HIs muscles clenched around Jaskier, and then Jaskier was coming, too, throwing his head back with a shout as he spent inside Geralt, hips bucking up as he chased the last pleasure of his climax.

Jaskier let himself recover for only a few breaths before he returned his attention to Geralt, who was hunched in on himself miserably, firsts planted on his thighs and eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

Geralt would not forgive him, Jaskier thought, then. Even if he did know who Jaskier was, he wouldn’t forgive this. And what good was rescuing him if he hated Jaskier for it? No, he berated himself immediately. It was worth everything, even if Geralt never spoke to him again. It was worth anything to get him away from here. “Well done,” Jaskier whispered, and petted a hand down Geralt’s arm. Geralt simply shuddered, and did not respond. 

“Bravo, prince.” Lord Iwen appeared at Jaskier’s side, clapping his hands together slowly. “An excellent performance.”

“I live to serve,” Jaskier said dryly, and Lord Iwen laughed.

“Do you mind if I cut in, then?” Iwen said, with a gesture at Geralt. “Just once more, for old time’s sake.”

Jaskier looked up at him with a frozen smile, and nodded.  
\--

_”Remember,” Yen said. “Anything they do to him in front of you, they have likely done before. Geralt has already survived it once, so don't put him in more danger by making a fuss over it, only because you happen to be in the room this time.”_

_“Right.” Jaskier’s mind went very easily to images of all the things they might have done to him in the years--_ years _\--that he’d been in captivity, and the possibility of sitting by and watching any of those things carried out. “I’ll try.”_

 _“Whatever it is, you can have a good cry over it later, when you’ve got him out.”_   
\--

“Kneel up,” Jaskier instructed. Geralt, still slightly uncoordinated in the wake of his orgasm, got onto all fours so that Jaskier could extract himself. He tucked his cock back into his pants and crossed his legs, settling into a spot on the floor just in front of Geralt. 

“Come here.” Jaskier patted his hands on his knees. “We want to make you nice and easy for Lord Iwen to fuck.”

When Geralt crawled towards him, Jaskier guided him down to put his head in Jaskier’s lap, so that his ass was raised invitingly. Geralt crossed his arms to rest his head against, his naked skin hot and damp where he touched Jaskier’s bare belly. Jaskier tore his eyes away from the sight to smile up at Lord Iwen. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Iwen was already undoing his breeches as he got to his knees behind Geralt. “You know, prince, witchers have a nearly insatiable sex drive.” Iwen gave his cock a few slow strokes, gazing down at Geralt fondly. “It’s important to keep them exercised frequently and vigorously.”

“Is that so?” Jaskier asked, keeping his eyes on Iwen and not on Geralt, who seemed to be vibrating with suppressed rage, shaking where he was pressed against Jaskier. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“He’ll be much more docile if you use him regularly. Isn’t that right, witcher?” Iwen gave Geralt’s ass a hard slap, and Geralt grunted softly. “You may resist, but it’s for your own good that your civilized betters keep you properly exercised.” Then Iwen wrapped his meaty hands around Geralt’s waist and pushed forward, spearing his cock into Geralt. At least Geralt had already been stretched, and the passage slicked, because Iwen didn’t seem to give much consideration to a warm-up, but at once began slamming his hips forward, shoving Geralt into Jaskier’s lap with great force. Geralt turned his head against Jaskier’s thigh and squeezed his eyes shut tight.

“It's so nice to have you quiet and complacent for me again. I have missed this.” Iwen rubbed his thumbs against Geralt’s hips. “I'm sure you have, too. Haven’t you?” Iwen gave a brutal thrust and raked his nails across Geralt’s back, leaving harsh red scratches. “Haven’t you?”

“Answer him, witcher,” Jaskier snapped.

“Yes,” Geralt said tightly.

“Yes.” Iwen gave a few more hard thrusts, then settled into a slow, rolling rhythm. “It really has been a joy seeing the prince here put you in your place. Watching you hate every moment of it. Truly the most fun I've had in quite a while. Thank you for that, prince.”

“My pleasure,” Jaskier said brightly. Geralt growled softly, muffled in Jaskier’s lap, and Jaskier petted a hand over his shoulder, as if that had any hope of soothing him. 

“And just think, witcher: this is what you have to look forward to until the end of your miserable days. Being the prince’s plaything and obeying his every order. As much as I wish I could see all of that, it will give me such joy to know that he is treating you as you deserve to be treated, like a dangerous animal.” Iwen leaned forward, thrusting as deep as he could go. “I hope he gets much use of you before he puts you down.”

Iwen planted a hand on Geralt’s back and plowed into him with punishing force. Geralt’s hands gripped Jaskier’s thighs hard enough to bruise, but Jaskier didn’t admonish him. He kept his eyes on Iwen so he didn’t have to watch Geralt take this last bit of punishment. Iwen threw back his head and groaned, then pulled out and stroked himself quickly as he spilled his seed across Geralt’s back and the upturned curve of his ass. Geralt made a quiet, disgusted sound, but otherwise stayed silent as Iwen refastened the bindings on his pants and stood. 

“Up,” Jaskeir said quickly, and slapped Geralt on the flank. 

Geralt pulled away from Jaskier and pushed up to standing, wobbling only a little. He had some red marks on his hips and scratches on his back where Iwen had mauled him, his ass was still a glowing red, and come decorated large swaths of his skin, but aside from that, he looked remarkably unscathed for the level of horror Jaskier felt at what they’d just done. 

Jaskier pushed to his feet as well, then went to the center of the room to retrieve the ropes Geralt had slipped earlier. He snapped his fingers at Geralt to follow, and he did. 

“Hands,” he said, and Geralt put his hands behind his back obligingly. Jaskier looped the rope around his wrists, not tight enough to cut off the circulation, and tied a strong knot. “Now, don’t you go taking that off until someone takes it off you. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Geralt no longer sounded defiant, only dull and tired. 

“Good boy,” Jaskier said, and cursed himself again as the words wrung another shudder out of Geralt.

“Well, Prince Kacper, I must confess you’ve exceeded my expectations.” Lord Iwen was grinning hugely, hands on his hips as he surveyed his thoroughly dominated witcher. “You truly are a connoisseur. Indeed, it would be a pity not to let you take the witcher, for you play him quite as well as a master bard plays a lute. It will give me pleasure to think of you having the use of him.”

Jaskier put a hand to his heart and gave a shallow bow. “You’re too kind.”

“I’ll let you complete the details with Baran.” Iwen clapped him on the shoulder, and Jaskier had to work not to flinch away. “I hope you’ll visit us again. I’d like to see what you could do with our other offerings. You do have quite a talent for mastering recalcitrant creatures.”

“With pleasure, Lord Iwen,” he said, and managed a passable smile. 

“I’ll leave you to it.” Iwen glanced at the witcher, then gestured to the half-dozen guards still gawking. “Guards, clean that up and have it prepared to travel tomorrow.” They moved to obey, and Iwen gave Jaskier one last grin. “Good night, prince. I do hope we meet again soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first in a series of three works, so don't worry, I'm not gonna leave it like that. As always, your comments help fuel the flames of future fic! And you can come find me on [tumblr](https://brighteyedjill.tumblr.com/), too!


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